A Different Kind of Love
by revolutionary14
Summary: Joker/Harley. Set in the Nolan-verse.


The alley next to Gotham's Central Bank was dark, damp, smelly, and all around repulsive. Just the way the Joker liked it. He stood on the rough cobblestones in his Sunday's Best- A pin-striped, navy business suit that had one single hole in the bottom of the breast pocket. His face was clean of any dirt or his favorite make-up. Underneath a fedora that matched his suit, his hair was combed back to give everyone inside the prestigious depository a clear view of his face. This was a special occasion.

He was waiting for the signal, three blue flashes from the building opposite. The Joker considered himself a reasonable man. But he was not patient. Not in the least. He kicked the loose stone free of the concrete below him and licked his lips compulsively. A habit. Two seconds had gone by. He stared gloomily up to the white-washed building where, somewhere inside, his goons were be lurking. If everything was going to plan. If.

He licked his lips again, and suddenly, the window on the 7th floor winked at him, so quickly that if someone had seen it from the city streets,by the time they looked back up it would be gone. The Joker buttoned the last button on his blazer and smiled a wicked smirk just for himself. He licked his lips a last time. Show time!

* * *

The Bank Manager, Frank Robinson, was helping with the afternoon shift, the busiest time of day for Gotham Central. Few employes agreed to this shift ever since the rise in crime in Gotham. Afternoon was as busy for customers as it was for evil-doers. Frank didn't mind. He had a stiff leg from when he served in the Vietnam War, nothing scared him anymore. He'd been held at gunpoint more than once, standing tall beside his facility. He made his was to the checking counter where an older lady was standing, a purple and golden shawl shading her eyes. Frank opened the bullet-proof window separating the employees from the customers. "Yes, ma'am, may I help you?" He asked, his voice calm with a hint of impatience. The elderly woman shifted on her feet and Frank saw an arm emerge from the shawl with a sleeve that was too long; it covered the quivering hand. Then he did a double take as the sleeve fell back and slid down the arm... revealing the muscled arm of a male, gripping a colt revolver that had a turquoise embellishment on the handle. And that gun was that last thing that poor, old Mr. Robinson saw. The shawl was ripped off, revealing the mans face. He glanced down, grimaced, and wiped the mud from his shoes onto the limp body's pant leg.

It was a few moments before the other 6 people in the room reacted; 4 employees, 2 customers. Among them was the blonde, petite, pink-lipped Harleen Quinn. She was an intern at Gotham's own Arkham Asylum and she had come to Gotham Central Bank to pick up her paycheck from her side job as a waitress. She saw what was happening and backed into a dark corner as quickly as her heels could move. She watched from afar, wanting to help, as the thugs (and two others that had walked in without her notice), began to brutally attack and tie up the 5 others.

Harleen was the first to see him enter the building. He strutted into the facility with a flourish; his shining, patent leathers squeaking and glinting in the evening sunset. He seemed to be on cloud 9, a ghoulish grin stretching from ear to ear. He even giggled once or twice. He licked his lips as he advanced towards the back of the building, his fingers twitching and flexing in his growing anticipation. As Harleen watched, he disappeared into a hallway, quickly followed by the goons who had finished the dirty work.

Harleen only considered running once. Then she told herself that wasn't an option. She was terrified that the second she moved out of the shadows to make a break for the door, the man in the suit would emerge again. Then she would end up like the others. Her breathing rate peaked as she once again glanced over at the 5 bodies tied together. She turned away quickly, covering her mouth with her hand to choke down a whimper. The women were strangled by their own pantyhose, which was left around their necks, tied in revolting, eerie bows. The men had drawings on their faces that the goons had smeared with their fingers. They looked just like clowns, only the paint had been replaced with their own blood. The bodies lied in one limp mass on the far side of the room. Harleen's legs were shaking. She felt like throwing up.

After what seemed like hours to Harley, the 4 men appeared in the hallway once more, but instead, they were all dragging and carrying sacks of money. The man in the navy was enchanted, jubilant. He danced across the marble tiles, the tails of his coat swinging about. His pearly whites shone like a beacon. Harleen watched with the captivation of a child who had seen The Batman on the television, or outside his bedroom window. She didn't blink, even as he stopped walking, frozen still in the direct center of the atrium. The goons turned back and frowned, which only made the Joker's smile widen.

"Go ahead, boys. There's just one punch-line I forgot to deliver." His voice was rough and charismatic. Despite her terror, she couldn't help but be filled with curiosity of what he might be about to do. When the goons were gone, the Joker leaned down and picked up something that he had stepped on. It took Harleen only one second to realize that, in her retreat to the corner, her glasses had fallen off the bridge of her nose. He held the crushed and broken plastic eye-wear in his hands and peered down at them.

Then, suddenly, he looked straight up into her eyes. Her mouth opened in a silent scream. First his grin widened, showing his white teeth again. Then he chuckled. Then that chuckle turned into a snicker, and that snicker turned into an unhinged peal of laughter that echoed around the spacious room. He stopped for one moment and just stared at her with that huge, demonic grin. Then he took a step towards her.

And she took a step back.

He took another step, and she responded the same.

"Now, now, now," he slurred, staring at her like a snake who had caught a helpless, fluttering bird in it's sight. "Don't go running off just yet. Looks like my minions forgot someone, eh?" She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She closed it, and opened it again. "Now, now, shhh, shh." He was sudden right in front of her. She had been too busy watching his face to notice his feet moving. She sudden realized that the reason that his grin had look so long from afar was because he had two, long, grotesque scars branching from the corners of his thin lips to his temples. She retracted in disgust, but he grabbed her wrist. She did not look away from his eyes for one second. His eyes were the only thing keeping her deathly still; keeping her from screaming and crying and running home.

She felt him place something cold into her hands. He placed a single finger to her lips and beamed croakedly. She glanced down and saw that in her hands was a small pistol. His own hands wrapping around hers like binding ropes, one of his fingers on top of hers, which laid on the trigger. The barrel of the gun was aiming straight at her heart. She held her breath, and looked pleadingly into the his eyes.

"No... no please..." Her voice was broken. She knew what was about to happen. His smirk stretched across his face like a snake twisting in the warm sunlight. Tears fell from her eyes and dripped onto both his and her hands between them. The beaded and rolled down their wrists and fell to the floor. She struggled to remove her hands, but with his python grip, it was impossible without the possibility of accidently pulling the trigger. "Don't do this. Please. Please." Again, he didn't respond, only stared her down.

She felt his finger gently press down on hers. "No. No, PLEASE!"

The sound of a gunshot echoed around the room. She felt her breath leave her lungs and looked down.

A flag protruding from the barrel. It had the word "BANG!" written in curly writing, dangling just in front of her chest. She sobbed twice, then looked back into his eyes. He winked, and then ran.

She did not move as he ran between the crystal doors of the front of the building. She did not move as she watched them drive away in a black jaguar stuffed with money. She did not move when the police arrived. She did not move. She did not breath. She just clutched the joke gun out in front of her and tried hopelessly to wipe those glinting, blue eyes out of her memory forever.

But they wouldn't stop watching her.


End file.
